The Africans ; or, War, Love, and Duty A Play In Three Acts |
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| 2. | SCENE II. |
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 | The Africans ; or, War, Love, and Duty |  |
SCENE II.
—A Wood.Enter Mug, R., carrying a basket full of eatables.
Mug.
This is what I call a complete smash. They have
as great a rage for knocking down houses in Africa, as
they have for building, in London.
[Starting.]
What's
that?—Only a jackdaw! I'm afraid I'm frighten'd!—
Whenever I have caught myself whistling, hang me, if I
could tell whether the tune was “Guardian angels now
protect me,” or “Go to the devil and shake yourself.” I
wouldn't have ventured into this dismal town again, from
the camp of my new master, the Mandingo king, but for
the hankering after the fate of my old master, the Foulah
priest;—and, if I was quite sure little Sutta was deceased,
I'd go into short mourning. The poor creatures, here,
are all as dead as door-nails!—so to keep myself alive, as it
is a good English three miles to the conquering king's
camp, who has made me his secretary of state,
[Sitting
on the ground, and opening the basket.]
we men high in
office always make sure of some devilish pretty pickings.
Enter Madiboo, R.
Mad.
Selico is safe on his way. Now to get some food,
And—
[Seeing Mug, whose back is turned on him.]
Ha! a man!—and eating!
Mug.
Here's a basket full! If the English secretary
for foreign affairs could see me now, wouldn't he say a
Mandingo cabinet minister lunches in style!
Mad.
[Rushing forward, and seizing him.]
You mustn't touch a morsel!
Mug.
[Rising, terrified.]
Don't kill me! keep me for a
show—you'll find it worth your while.
Mad.
Ah! white man, is it you?
Mug.
Let me look at you—is it—eh?—yes! Lord,
Mr. Madiboo! I'm heartily glad to meet you alive, though
you almost frightened me to death. You won't hurt your
old friend Henry Augustus Mug, the ivory turner?
Mad.
I can't tell! I am desperate!
Mug.
Are you? Pray don't put yourself in a passion,
Mr. Madiboo—it will make you angry.
Mad.
I must have food!
I was just going to dinner. You have dropped in
a little unexpectedly; but I am vastly happy to see you.
Pray take a seat upon the ground; and excuse this bad
set out, as I didn't expect the honour of your company.
Mad.
Look you, chalk-face! Your fear invites me to
eat, what I should be very loath to snatch from you as
plunder. The black slave merchants, who travel up along
the Senegal and Gambia, say your nation is famed for humanity
and bravery: I won't insult its character for courage,
by attacking such a paltry specimen of it as yourself.
But I apply to you on a score which they say no Englishman
can withstand—an honest family is perishing—succour
the distressed.
Mug.
Take all the basket, and much good may it do you.
I'm a little nervous, but, hang me, if I do this out of fear!
When my heart is full, I'd as leaf my stomach was empty.
Mad.
You are a good white man. How can I thank you?
Mug.
Don't say a word; munch dumb. Lord love you,
I'm made secretary of state to the Mandingo king, and
have got plenty.
Mad.
Ha! how did that happen?
Mug.
Why, his majesty is a monarch of great natural
parts, but he can neither read nor write;—so, just as he
was going to cut my throat, his majesty humanely considered
that I might be of a great deal of use to him, and
generously spared my life.
Mad.
Yes, and he'll poison you, when he has no further
occasion for you. He is no rightful ruler; but worked
and bullied himself into power. When the troubles about
liberty broke out among the Mandingoes, he was of low note
among their warriors. Enterprise and good luck gave him,
at last, complete sway over the fighting men;—that's everything,
when a nation is in a ferment, and the successful
upstart is active, cruel, and cunning. But what has it
made him? Why, the usurping king of a people who
murdered their true king, because they would have no
king at all; and the pillaging protector of some trembling
neighbours, whom he forces to say, come and shoot one
half of us, that the survivors may thank you for putting
their property into your clutches.
Mug.
I happen to be his secretary of state, for all that;
so I must do my duty—and, in my official capacity, see
what I have drawn up as my first maiden letter, and sent
to the English governor at the factory, at the mouth of the
Senegal.
Well, let me gather all the intelligence I can, before
I quit you—but, be quick.
Mug.
Don't hurry a cabinet minister; it will spoil your
preferment. No merchant has been up the country lately,
and his majesty is out of paper; so I wrote my official letter
on a bit of slate,
[Pulling out a pocket-book.]
and here is
a copy. I commanded the state messenger to be very
careful not to spit on the despatches, for fear of rubbing
them out.
Mad.
Let me hear them.
Mug.
A little patience, as I used to say to my creditors.
I always took in the Gazette, at Snow-Hill, and by conning
it over, this kind of job comes as smooth as a bit of
polished ivory.
Mad.
Begin.
Mug.
I'm going.
“Sir, I have the honour to inform your excellency, that
his majesty Demba Sego Jalla, the Mandingo king of Kassan,
whose important cares of state have never afforded him
leisure to learn to write,—has taken many prisoners now
on sale. The capture has been so great that T. O.”—that's
turn over—“that it will be worth the English traders'
while to travel up to the camp to inspect them.”
Mad.
They'll never come so far inland.
Mug.
Won't they? The messenger is returned, and
they are all expected here in grand cavalcade this very day.
I knew my style would fetch 'em—for hear what I have
added.
[Reading.]
“I have the honour to inform your
excellency, that, if the merchants take the trouble to come,
I'll be d---d if they won't find a lumping penn'orth. I
would send a list of the killed and wounded in this affair,
but slate runs short, and no paper. I have the honour to
be, with the highest consideration, your excellency's most
devoted servant, Henry Augustus Mug, wood and ivory-turner,
No. 25, Snow-Hill; were all orders are executed
on the lowest terms, for ready money only.”
Mad.
White man, I must hurry from you. The provisions
which you have given me, are wanted by those who
are now perishing with hunger.
Mug.
Why didn't you scamper off towards the desert?
I hear all have run there who were not taken prisoners.—
Pray, Mr. Madiboo, if I may make so bold to inquire,
what's become of your mamma—your mother?
Mad.
What's that to you?
Mug.
[Frightened.]
Oh, dear! nothing at all; I didn't
after the health of the good family.
Mad.
I would tell you how we are placed; but unthinking
friends often divulge the serious secrets of those they
would serve, and bring them into calamity, without intending
it. Farewell, white man! I hope we may meet again;
I owe you much, much gratitude. Oh, Mahomet! can the
heart receive more thrilling transport than this unexpected
treasure will afford me, by enabling me to preserve the life
of her who gave me birth!
[Exit, hastily, R.
Mug.
He's off—and what's very uncommon, has taken
with him, without fee or reward, all that a secretary of
state had to give, to the utmost satisfaction of the donor.
I shall go back to the camp, with a clear conscience and
an empty stomach.
To buy a lot of ivory to Africa I came;
I met a trading blackamoor, a wooly old humbug—
He coax'd me up his land, and made a slave of Mr. Mug.
Crying, won't you, won't you, won't you, won't you come, Mr. Mug?
My skin is lily white, and the colour here is new,
So the first man that they sold me to, he thump'd me back and blue.
The priest who bought me from him, in a tender-hearted tone,
Said, come from that great blackguard's house, and walk into my own.
Crying, won't you, won't you, won't you, won't you come, Mr. Mug?
Good lack! but to behold the vicissitudes of fate;
I'm his black Mandingo majesty's white minister of state.
For hours in my lobby my petitioners shall stay,
And wish me at the devil, when I hold my levee day.
Crying, won't you, won't you, won't you, won't you come, Mr. Mug?
[Exit, L.
| The Africans ; or, War, Love, and Duty | |